Clark sputtered and nearly choked on his white chocolate mocha.
Lois furrowed her brow and stared hard into her nonfat latte.
I just loved this, Crystal. Some of us were born with the super metabolism so that we can eat and drink anything, while the rest of us - were not.
“You think Bill Church is robbing himself?” Clark frowned. “His own stores?”
Lois nodded and reached for her mug. “And he’s collecting — ”
“Insurance!” Clark interjected.
They sure are a good team.
“Lois, if you’re right, then we’re accusing Metropolis’ golden businessman of grand theft, fraud, embezzlement — ”
“No,” Lois interrupted, ignoring the confusion clouding Clark’s features. “We’re accusing him of being the man behind Intergang.”
This is most dramatic and effective. (And as the world's most diehard Lois fan, I don't mind
her looking like the brains of the Lane and Kent team right now.)
Her face was hot and a faraway waterfall roared in her ears. She was rapidly becoming one of those women she loved to hate — overly emotional and easily spooked.
This part with Mayson is heartbreaking. I honestly didn't know what to quote here, because it's all so sad. I think it is so horrible that Mayson has to hate herself and consider herself weak for what others have done to her. But I do agree that many people would react just like this, and it seems very in character for Mayson, who is so strong and so vulnerable at the same time. (And I liked how you described Mayson's impending breakdown, that faraway waterfall roaring in her ears.)
“Please.” He covered the back of her clammy fist with a warm hand, careful of the IV taped there.
His touch — such a simple gesture — shredded the last vestiges of Mayson’s control. Scalding tears ran down her bruised cheeks and her broken ribs screamed from the silent sobs racking her body.
It isn’t fair. It isn't fair. Those three words echoed in her ears, louder than her erratic heartbeat. A four-year-old’s refrain, stuck on repeat.
It just isn’t fair.
Some nameless, faceless thug had hurt her — caught her alone and off-guard, kicked her and beaten her and scared her — for doing her job. She was just doing her job. And it had nearly cost Mayson her life.
And just hours earlier, if Clark hadn’t come back to her room when he had ...
She cried harder, gripping Scardino’s hand.
Heartbreaking. Heartbreaking. And so, so, horribly
not fair. Scardino would’ve held her, but he was afraid he’d hurt her. So he waited patiently, letting her cry, while he rubbed the pad of his thumb along the back of her hand, tracing the edges of the IV tape.
Mayson was grateful for his unspoken support. If he’d tried to comfort her, it would’ve only made her cry harder, and she wasn’t sure if her ribs could take the punishment.
And it's even more horrifying that when Scardino is comforting her like this - incidentally pushing her over the edge and making her cry while he is comforting her - he is also planning to put her in additional danger without even informing her of his plans.
Mayson swallowed hard, past the lump in her throat. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
For understanding. “For being here.”
Is he understanding? I wonder. But right now he is there, while Clark isn't.
For the first time since she’d woken up in the hospital two days ago, Mayson felt strangely comforted.
Must be the painkillers, she told herself as she closed her eyes, refusing to believe warm relief settling in her chest had anything to do with Agent Call-Me-Daniel Scardino.
Please, please don't make him let her down too horribly.
Lois’ jaw visibly dropped. “Where are your instincts, Clark? Did you leave them on the farm? Being a well-liked, prominent executive in Metropolis is the perfect cover! Look how easily it worked for Le — ” The name died in her throat and she looked into her now-empty mug, wishing she could leap inside and disappear.
Clark flushed and stared at his hands. “You’re right,” he said quietly.
The silence stretched, forcing an invisible, Lex Luthor-sized wedge between them.
Lois cleared her throat. “Sorry.”
Clark shot her a small but generous smile. “No need.”
She could’ve hugged him. Or kissed him. “Thanks,” she whispered, her cheeks burning.
And this is so perfect.
“Stay put. Keep watching Lane. I want to know every move she makes.”
“Of c-course, sir. What about Kent?”
“Like I said, keep both eyes on Lane. I trust her a lot less than I trust Kent. She’s the brains behind that team, and besides, where you find her, you usually find him.”
“Will do.”
“You’d better! And watch out for that overgrown Boy Scout in tights.”
Bill Church is behind it, all right.
Church slammed the phone onto its cradle and passed a hand over his balding pate. At this rate, he might have to send another lackey to dispose of the assistant district attorney earlier than he’d anticipated.
He took a deep breath. Tomorrow or two weeks from now, what did it matter? Mayson Drake was as good as dead anyway.
And please let somebody hold their hand over Mayson. Of course, seeing that she didn't make it in the TV show, it does feel as if the fates are against her.
The tension is rising, as you are working your way towards a climax and a resolution, Crystal. At least it feels that way to me. And it is still so beautifully written.
Ann
